


Knock Once, Knock Twice

by ContreParry



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern Thedas, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-03 13:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: Anders’s new apartment is a dream come true, until he realizes that he shares the space with an invisible tenant who has no intention of moving out.





	Knock Once, Knock Twice

**Author's Note:**

> The art at the beginning of this fic was created by the amazing [ Goat Bazaar of Art ](https://the-goat-bazaar-of-art.tumblr.com/post/187956976949/im-finally-updating-my-commissions-i-streamlined), who collaborated with me on this fic and helped me come up with a good title!
> 
> Happy October, everyone!

Anders knew his apartment was too good to be true.

It was a mansion built in the Steam Age that was recently divided up and renovated into several apartments. The main corridor was the entrance everyone used, and while the first floor belonged to Hawke and her girlfriend Merrill, Anders was glad to rent one of the four above stairs apartments at a surprisingly cheap price. He was positive that he was somehow being cheated, but he read the fine print three times and he just couldn’t find the catch. Decent one bedroom apartment with a functional kitchen and bathroom, nice neighborhood, nice neighbors, even the landlady was nice! There had to be a catch. But as no one else was willing to rent to a witch with a questionable side business, Anders eagerly jumped on the suspicious apartment listing and started renting the third floor apartment, north side, from Marian Hawke. He promised to keep his potion brewing and consultation sessions within reasonable hours, keep his cats within his apartment unless on a leash and harness, and to let Hawke know if anything needed fixing or replacing.

It still felt a little too good to be true, even after Anders signed his lease agreement and hoisted his two battered suitcases up the stairs. Even as he brought in furniture and belongings from his rented moving trailer, it didn’t quite feel real. Anders had moved across the ocean! He had finally settled into his new life in Kirkwall! He had to keep pinching himself through the day as he put together cheap furniture he bought from Blackwall Co.. Tomorrow he’d put up the cat tree, Anders thought, and a thrill of excitement coursed through him. After work he’d pick up his cats from Lirene, who was watching them until he had properly cat-ified his apartment. Then this apartment with the absurdly cheap rent would officially be his!

It was two in the morning when Anders found out why his rent was so cheap.

Anders woke up to the sound of someone pacing in the hallway outside his apartment. Pacing was a mild way to describe the noise, because in reality it sounded like someone in heavy combat boots stomping up and down the hall with no destination in mind. 

CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP. 

A brief pause. 

CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP. 

Another brief pause. Then the stomping sounds started all over again.

Anders rubbed his eyes and rolled out of bed. He’d dealt with all sorts of assholes growing up- bullies back in his hometown, jerks at boarding school, plenty of dicks in the Wardens, especially when you were a Healer and everyone was grouchy about shrapnel and broken bones. Even now, with his day job as a Healer in a Warden clinic and his side business as a magical consultant, he broke up plenty of fights and soothed bad tempers. Anders was used to dealing with angry, difficult people, and whoever was stomping around in the hallway at two in the morning was a _difficult person_! No wonder Hawke was renting out at such a cheap price. With such a loud neighbor running around, you’d have to have a big incentive to want to deal with it.

Well, Anders was normally pretty easy-going, but he needed to sleep!

Anders poked his head out of his apartment ready to quietly tell off the angry stomper, only to be greeted by… an empty hallway. No one was there. The hallway light flickered, then steadied. No one could have possibly ducked into the other apartment (Isabela’s, Hawke informed him, she’s gone for the week) without making some sort of noise that Anders would have heard. And with the amount of noise they were making, Anders knew he would have heard them running down the stairs.

“Hey!” Anders shouted out into the empty air, “If you’re going to stomp around, do it when people _aren’t_ sleeping, got it? Andraste’s Tits, don’t be a total dick.”

There! That would show them! Satisfied that he’d cowed the mystery stomper with his words, Anders dragged himself back to bed. He had to finish unpacking tomorrow, after he went to the clinic for his first day of work in Kirkwall. Then he had to go shop for groceries, cleaning supplies, all the miscellaneous items you always forgot to grab when you were moving, and then start organizing his place so he could run his business properly. It was going to be a busy day.

The stomping stopped for the rest of the night.

-

“Oh, Anders! Good morning!” Merrill greeted him cheerfully as he passed her in the garden on the way to work. She wore a floppy straw hat and grass stained coveralls, and she held a pair of wickedly sharp clippers in her hand as she dead-headed a rosebush. Anders adjusted his messenger bag strap and smiled. He woke up earlier than he usually did in case he got lost on his way to work. He didn’t expect to run into anyone at this hour. The sun was barely rising over the ocean! But here was Merrill, happily snipping off dead flowers and collecting them in a wicker basket.

“Morning, Merrill,” Anders said. “The garden looks nice.” To Anders’s untrained eye, the little garden plot was incredible. Maker’s Balls, somehow Merrill managed to make tomato plants look _pretty_ in their planter boxes. The roses were bordered with orange flowers- marigolds, Anders realized as he looked closer. He was never much of a plant person, but this garden was soothing. If it were warmer, he’d be tempted to drag out a camping chair and enjoy some afternoon sunlight, but the early autumn morning was just a little too chilly, even for him.

“Oh, yes. I didn’t used to garden, but after Marian inherited and we renovated the place last year, well, it seemed like such a shame to leave all this space to the weeds. Not that weeds are bad, of course not, but still,” Merrill grinned and tilted her hat back on her head. There was a dirt smudge across the bridge of her nose. “But enough about that, how was your first night? Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, but you know the other tenant? Isabela? I think she came back last night, unless someone downstairs was stomping around on my floor?” Anders briefly met the other two tenants in the building, a Chantry priest who was a little too clean cut for Anders’s taste, and an elvhen college student. Neither one of them looked like the type who would stomp around in a hallway in combat boots, so perhaps the mysterious Isabela came in late and made all that noise.

“Oh, no,” Merrill said hastily. “Isabela’s still in Rivain, she’s coming back next week. That was probably the ghost. Or the water pipes. We’ve had some trouble with the pipes in the building, they _are_ very old.”

“Ghost?” Anders repeated, certain he misheard her, but Merrill grinned and nodded her head.

“Yes,” Merrill cheerily replied. “They’re a bit noisy, but other than the stomping and shutting doors, they’re surprisingly mellow. If you ever lose something they’re bound to track it down if you ask nicely.”

“You’re sure this isn’t some spirit of compassion?” Anders joked weakly. A ghost? He didn’t remember hearing about a ghost from Hawke, and he was fairly certain his contract hadn’t mentioned any ghosts in his apartment. Spirits were expected- Merrill was also a witch of some kind, though Anders hadn’t inquired any further. The point was that magic users attracted spirits, so having one wandering around in a mage house wasn’t unusual. Merrill shook her head.

“Oh, definitely not. I would be able to see and speak with a spirit, you know,” Merrill sighed. “If I could talk to them I would, but they’re not too fond of me. Always makes the air cold if I start asking questions. But I suppose I wouldn’t be so cheerful if I was a ghost and everyone moved into my house, would I? Hmmm... “ Merrill returned to deadheading roses, and Anders pondered this new dilemma.

Ghosts, spirits, and magical mishaps were Anders’s wheelhouse. Mages had magic, but witches? Witches specialized in certain fields within magic, and while Anders was a spirit healer, he was also a witch. Whenever there was a magical mishap that you wanted handled professionally and _discreetly_, you could always count on Anders, healer, witch, and spirit consultant, to do the job. And while he normally wouldn’t take on a case free of charge, he did live in this house, and if Merrill, a knowledgeable and skilled witch in her own right, couldn’t handle it by herself _and_ she was convinced it was a ghost…

“I’ve got a bit of a knack with spirits,” Anders said modestly. “I can try and talk to them, your ghost. Their stomping woke me up, wouldn’t want to go through that every night.”

“You would? Anders, that’s wonderful! Why don’t you come down for dinner on Friday, Hawke and I like to invite all our friends over to enjoy a good meal. We can discuss it then!” Merrill exclaimed. “Oh, but I’m keeping you from work, I’ll talk to you later, Anders! Goodbye!” She shooed Anders out of the front garden with a smile and a wave, and Anders quickly hurried down the street towards the subway station.

He had to get to work.

-

Work was work. Anders didn’t see any patients during the day. Instead, he occupied himself with organizing the clinic. Supplies were pouring in from Warden Commander Surana and some of the Free Marcher charities dedicated to caring for Ferelden war refugees, and Anders spent the entire morning coordinating all the deliveries. Then, after he grabbed a quick lunch, he sat down to create an event calendar for the clinic. Anders smiled as he sent off another email to another charity, informing them of the clinic’s upcoming opening. He couldn’t help but feel a little proud as he locked up for the night. This clinic was going to make a difference in Kirkwall, especially in the Lowtown and Darktown districts. He was going to make a difference! It felt good. Anders took a deep breath, letting the crisp evening air burn his lungs before heading towards the subway station. Anders stopped by Lirene’s place to pick up his cats, then went back to the station to head back to Hightown and his apartment complex. The moment he let the cats out into his apartment, twin blurs of orange and cream darted out of the carriers and into the living room.

“Well, at least you boys are enjoying yourselves,” Anders commented as he watched his cats hop from bookshelf to bookshelf and explore their new domain. While Ser Pounce-a-Lot lived up to his name by jumping up to the highest shelves of the cat tree and pouncing on any stray bit of fluff floating about, Justice languidly stretched out in his Orlesian blue cat bed and meowed loudly as Anders passed him to enter the kitchen. Time for dinner- at least he had the presence of mind to buy groceries yesterday, though he hadn’t put them away yet.

“Fuck, where did I put my colander,” Anders muttered as he dug through a half-unpacked box on the counter. It wasn’t in this box, which was full of coffee mugs and cutlery, and the other box contained pots and pans- damn it, where did he put it?

Something rattled in a cabinet, the clinking sound of metal on porcelain somewhat muffled by the wooden door. _If you ever lose something they’re bound to track it down if you ask nicely._ Either Anders was hearing things again, or Merrill told him the truth in the garden this morning: the entire apartment complex was haunted. But just to confirm it, Anders opened the cabinet where the noise was emanating from. The colander sat on a pile of plates, perfectly still. Anders hesitantly pulled the colander out of the cabinet, half expecting an electric shock. But nothing happened. It was still his stainless steel, slightly dented colander, the one that went with him from Kinloch Prep to Amaranthine and now Kirkwall.

“Hey, uh, ghost,” Anders called out. “Is this your way of apologizing for waking me up last night?”

Silence. Anders sighed. What was he expecting? It’s not like he took out a board or scrying crystal or anything else. That was all coming in from Amaranthine next week, and he wasn’t about to run out to search the streets for a reputable witch’s shop to buy items he already owned! Ah well. He was going to have to go old school. Hopefully the ghost would be able to respond. Spirits were easy to tangle with, but ghosts? Ghosts were much harder.

“Can you knock twice for yes, once for no?” Anders asked politely. Silence.

**Knock. Knock.**

Anders grinned. “Great! So, finding my stuff. Did you do that to apologize?”

Two more knocks, these ones a little quicker than the first set. Anders set the colander on the counter and pulled out a pot, a pan, and a cutting board. He started digging through his groceries, pulling out the bag of dried pasta and his collection of squash, zucchini, peppers, and tomatoes.

“I’m going to make some dinner,” Anders informed the ghost. “After that I’ll rig something up so we can have a proper conversation-” Anders’s eyes fell on a large, empty span of his dark linoleum counter. Maker’s Balls, he didn’t want to start making kitchen messes when he was only half moved in, but desperate times and all that. He could clean up later.

“Give me a minute, I think I’ve got- ha!” Anders pulled out a bag of flour from his grocery pile and dumped a small pile of flour into the counter. It puffed up into a cloud, and Anders smoothed it out until a thin layer of flour covered the empty counter space. “There. Take your time. Writing takes a lot of energy, I know, but-”

The ghost was already forming lines in the flour. Their script was neat and even, and they wrote with alarming speed. That was odd. Ghosts tended to have a bit of trouble with control, and even more powerful ghosts were better at tossing items and breaking shit. Writing, even forming lines in flour, was delicate work. Ghosts were better at making light bulbs explode, or stomping around in hallways. But this ghost couldn’t be a spirit, or demon. They’d just show up to any unsuspecting magic user and talk to them. So, the ghost was a ghost. A powerful ghost. A- they finished writing. Anders read the neatly written words out loud.

“I am sorry I woke you. The third floor was empty this week. I needed to think,” the ghost said (wrote?). Anders frowned. Chatty ghost, huh?

“You didn’t see me move in?” Anders asked.

“Busy,” was the ghost’s reply. Maybe not so chatty, after all. 

Anders was going to ask _why_ the ghost was hanging around when Pounce whined loudly from his spot at the top of the cat tree. Ander looked up. Pounce was watching him, his pupils so large and round that his golden eyes were nearly black. His long orange tail lashed from side to side, and his ears were plastered flat to his head. And Justice was slinking along the bookshelves, bright blue eyes fixed on the empty air in front of the floured counter space. Neither cat looked happy, and Anders had to suppress a shudder. What did they see that he couldn’t?

“Look, I don’t mind that you’re around. Merrill says you’re good company, and you helped me out just now,” Anders informed the ghost. “But we can’t have any more 2 AM stomping, okay? Would it help if I gave you my schedule? Daytime stomping is fine, I’m not here-”

Two knocks. Anders rolled his eyes.

“You have the flour, you can use that,” Anders muttered, and an invisible force wiped away the word “busy” from the flour surface. More neat lines appeared.

“Writing is hard,” Anders read, and he scoffed. “Ah, so you’re a funny ghost.”

Two knocks, and the words were wiped away. Anders hesitated, waiting for something else to be said, but it seemed that the ghost was done with talking for now. Anders turned his attention back to his dinner. He’d deal with a mercurial ghost later, after he had food in his belly and organized his closet.

Andraste’s tits, he had to figure out something to wear for dinner on Friday. Ugh. All his best clothes were buried under layers of scrubs and workout gear! He’d have to get unpacked right away. Anders returned his attention to making dinner and put his mystery ghost out of his mind.

The thin layer of flour spread across the counter remained untouched for the rest of the night.

-

The ghost was true to their word. That was another surprise, all things considered. Most ghosts were either a.) unaware of their ghostly state or b.) had unfinished business that must be dealt with. Anders fully expected that, after his conversation with his paranormal neighbor, he would hear more from the ghost. However, Anders heard nothing. He put his schedule up on the fridge, there were no more nighttime stomping episodes, and he happily settled into his daily routine of work, shopping, and time at home. He could almost forget the ghost entirely, save for the way Pounce and Justice would sometimes stare at empty patches of air and follow whatever they were staring at with their eyes.

There was also the ghost’s helpful, silent meddling. Of course Anders couldn’t ignore the way things kept appearing right when he needed them. This was easily the smoothest move into a new place Anders ever experienced, and he had to give credit to the ghost for keeping track of his things. Yet the flour on the counter remained untouched, and the apartment was constantly silent. By early Friday evening Anders had just about had enough of it. He set the wine he bought on the kitchen counter and glared at the floured countertop.

“I wasted a cup of flour so we could chat, ghost,” Anders grumbled. “Customs is holding up my tools, so this is the best I can do.”

Blank. Anders rolled his eyes. What else was he expecting, really?

“Look, I’m going to clean up and get dressed. Don’t watch me shower,” Anders informed the air. To his astonishment, neat lines formed in the flour.

“‘Would not dream of it,’” Anders read out loud, which made him smile. The ghost really had a sense of humor! Anders grinned and watched as Pounce jumped onto the counter and batted at the flour. Justice’s rumbling purr echoed through the kitchen as he butted his head against empty air.

“Have fun with the cats, ghost,” Anders said, and he skipped all the way to the bathroom. After a luxurious shower, Anders looked over the contents of his closet before picking out a pair of black jeans, ankle boots, and a dark teal sweater. Perfectly nice, ordinary clothing, the sort of thing that you would wear when meeting your significant other’s parents for the first time. Hopefully it wasn’t too prim and proper, Anders thought as he toweled his hair dry. Hawke and Merrill seemed like an easy-going couple, considering that they invited him to their Friday dinner. Hopefully they were also fans of red wine. Anders wandered back into the kitchen, where Pounce and Justice were still staring at the empty air in the kitchen.

“Aww, you stayed in the kitchen! You’re a polite one, aren’t you?” Anders cooed, and air surrounding him went icy. “Maker’s Balls, I was teasing!”

The air quickly heated up back to a normal temperature, and the flour on the kitchen counter (which was already wiped back into a clean slate) had the slightest indentation in it. It was as if the ghost’s finger rested in the little dent, as if they wanted to write something but didn’t know what to say. This was just another strange aspect of his ghost, wasn’t it? Most ghosts had no problem speaking, once you gave them a voice of sorts. But this one was… well, it seemed to Anders like this ghost was _shy_.

“Sensitive, huh? Not like I’m that offended, I know that being… well, it can’t be easy, being a ghost. You’re a lot nicer than most ghosts I deal with,” Anders said gently. “Is there… anything I can do to help you? I’m heading downstairs for dinner, but I’ve got a few minutes. We can talk. Do you know who you are?”

One knock. The flour started to move. Anders leaned in closer to watch as words swiftly formed in the flour. The cats, who seemed to have grown bored of the ghost’s presence, wandered away from the kitchen. Justice continued to look askance at the empty air, while Pounce wound around Anders’s legs and spread his orange fur against Anders’s black skinny jeans.

“Can’t remember,” the ghost wrote, then wiped the words away, sending a puff of flour into the air. “Thank you for offering.”

“You’re welcome. Do you have a name?”

One knock. The words were cleared once again, and the ghost drew a large question mark in the flour.

“Right,” Anders muttered. “Tomorrow, we’ll get started on that. I’ll head to the library, do some research, all that. Want to come down with me to dinner? Seems like you’re as much a resident as me.” Anders grabbed the wine bottle and watched as the ghost wrote something else in the flour.

“I’ll join you later,” Anders read. “Very well. Let me know if you want to talk about anything, okay? I can stay up tonight and chat, I’ve got nothing to do save for our library trip.”

“Thank you,” the ghost wrote, and they erased the words with a quick sweep of a ghostly hand. Anders took a step back because it was far too tempting to stay in his kitchen talking to his mysterious and intriguing ghost. Andraste’s Tits, even with their limited communication Anders found that speaking with the ghost was easy! Strange ghost. Strange circumstances.

“I’m off, then,” Anders informed the ghost. “Take care!” He hurried out the door before he could change his mind.

Anders could almost convince himself that it was the wind that ruffled his hair.

-

“Anders! You’re here!” Merrill enthusiastically greeted him when he knocked on her door. Anders held up the wine bottle and smiled sheepishly. The smell of… Anders didn’t know what Merrill cooked, but he picked up the smell of freshly baked bread on the air. 

“Didn’t know what you might need for dinner, so I got a bottle of wine,” Anders said. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Oh, we’ve invited loads of people,” Hawke called out from somewhere further in the apartment. “Someone needs to help me eat Merrill’s feast!”

“We’re very happy you came,” Merrill added swiftly as she took the bottle. “Oh my, isn’t this bottle pretty?” She held the bottle up to the light, and the liquid inside gleamed like a polished garnet.

“Hope it tastes as good as it looks,” Anders replied. “By the way, I invited the apartment ghost, so if they make an appearance don’t be alarmed.”

“Oh? Have you seen them?” Merrill asked eagerly, and she stepped to the side and gestured for Anders to come in. She shut the door behind him. Anders looked into the living/dining space, taking note of the crowd of people around the white linen couches.

“Had a few conversations, but no manifestations,” Anders replied. “Think it might be hard for them to get the energy for that, but we’ve talked. Sort of.”

“Amazing! You’ll have to tell me about it later, I’ll just head back to finish up supper. Hawke!” Merrill yelled the last bit. “I’ll need your help in the kitchen!”

“Sure thing, sweetheart! Just tell me what to do!” Hawke shouted, and she launched herself off the couch. “Hi there, Anders! Make yourself at home.” She followed Merrill into the kitchen, and Anders was left alone facing a crowd of unknown faces- oh wait, he recognized that one. Anders almost rolled his eyes when he saw the Chantry priest wearing khakis and a dark blue sweater- ugh, he was handsome and _way_ too nice. Suspicious.

“Anders! Good to see you. Have you settled into your apartment?” he asked politely, and Anders wished he had a reason to dislike the man beyond him being handsome and charming. Both qualities in one person was em>very suspect in the Anders “Book of People.”

“I’m doing fine, Sebastian,” Anders told him as he crossed the living room and perched on the arm of one of the couches (not the one Sebastian was sitting on, thank you very much). “Hi, everyone. I’m Anders, I’m renting one of the third floor apartments from Hawke and Merrill.”

“So _you’re_ my new neighbor!” A beautiful woman with dark skin and copper-y eyes exclaimed with delight. She almost purred like a cat. “Sorry I haven’t introduced myself earlier, sweet thing, been out of town.”

“You’re Isabela? I was convinced you came back early my first night here, but it was the ghost pacing out in the hall,” Anders said. “Nice to meet you. He held out his hand and Isabela shook it. Andraste’s Tits, the woman had a strong grip!

“So it was the ghost, not you,” Sebastian mused. “Should’ve known, they get moody every few months. Stomping and all.”

“Huh. Thought the Chantry didn’t much approve of ghost stories, Choir Boy,” a stocky dwarf with a face that was both ruggedly handsome and clearly full of mischief spoke from an armchair by the fireplace.

“You cannae deny what you experience every day, Varric,” Sebastian said mildly. “The ghost has also rearranged my pantry several times and finds my glasses when I lose them.”

“Lucky you. All I get are cold spots when I visit,” A tall, stern looking woman with bright red hair grumbled. She looked over at Anders, her bright green gaze assessing him so critically that he had to force himself to remain slouched on his perch.

“Aveline Vallen. I’ve heard about you- you’re in charge of the Warden Clinic opening up in Darktown, aren’t you?” Aveline asked, but it didn’t really seem like a question. More like an accusation, truth be told. Smile, Anders told himself. Warden Commander Surana always reminded them to smile when dealing with the public (“Either they’re charmed or cowed into silence- yes, Nathaniel, even you have to smile at press functions.”) So Anders smiled and tried to put his best foot forward.

“Yes, that’s me! I’m just waiting for a few more supplies and the final bits of paperwork from the city, but it should be open in the next few weeks!” Anders said cheerfully. “Which reminds me, I need to print out some flyers. Weird question, but does anyone have any recommendations on where to go for that?”

“Might be able to give you a few names. Let me talk to a few people,” the dwarf replied, and he looked over at Anders for the first time.

“Varric Tethras, at your service,” Varric introduced himself graciously. “I think that’s all of us, save for the Little Hawkes who are at college in Orlais, and Leandra. I think she’s…”

“Mum’s out with her book club, she’ll come by for the next one. Orana’s out with a study group, but I’m saving her some leftovers so don’t take the whole cake with you, Isabella,” Hawke ordered from the kitchen. Isabella rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out towards the kitchen.

“What about Bodhain and Sandal?” Aveline asked

“Vacation to Ostwick,” Sebastian replied. “I’m watering Sandal’s plant collection for the week.” Typical Sebastian, Anders thought sourly. He probably swept the floor and dusted too, the perfectionist!

“Be sure not to overwater the orchids, Sebastian! They grow in trees, they like drier roots,” Merrill cheerfully called out, and Sebastian flushed.

“Whoops,” he muttered, and somehow that little bit of flustered embarrassment was more endearing than the saintly serenity he pretended to cloak himself in. 

“I need some help dragging everything out to the table!” Hawke yelled before Anders could dwell on that thought. Yelling for help seemed to be the general call to dinner, and everyone gathered headed towards the kitchen to carry something out to the table in a rush of conversation and friendly jostling about. As Anders slipped past Sebastian and Hawke while carrying a large salad bowl, he realized with a jolt of excitement that he had rather missed this camaraderie. With the Wardens back in Amaranthine he’d always eaten in a mess hall with a dozen other Wardens, and back at school it was the dining hall. Even a week of having meals alone with the cats was… well, it was miserable, truth be told. Anders had never liked being alone.

A cool breeze ruffled his hair, and Anders grinned. The ghost made it for dinner after all.

“Want me to announce your arrival?” Anders mumbled as he set the salad down on the table, and there was a sharp knock that emanated from next to the salt shaker.

“Fine, fine, I’ll let you be mysterious,” Anders retorted. “For now.” The next breeze that blew past him almost felt playful, the faintest little brush against his cheek.

“Flirt,” Anders grumbled, and the ghost knocked twice on the table before passing him, if the sudden decrease in temperature was any indicator of the ghost’s presence. Cheeky! Anders sniffed and headed back to the kitchen so he could carry out more food and cutlery.

Soon enough everything was on the table, everyone found a seat, and the meal commenced in a rowdy, cheerful fashion. It was easy to find a rhythm in this group, Anders thought as he took a plate of roasted fingerling herbed potatoes from Sebastian at his right and served himself. Varric sat opposite of him, and the ghost… well.

The ghost was so obviously sitting at Anders’s left in the empty seat that Anders felt like, if he just turned his head, he’d see the ghost right there. As it was, he felt the chill in the air and the occasional brush of a phantom hand against his arm, his hand, his cheek- flirt! He was being haunted by an outrageous _flirt_!

“Andraste’s Tits, Anders, you could have said there was a draft!” Hawke exclaimed as she walked by, having fetched his bottle of wine from the kitchen counter. Anders chuckled and waved her off.

“It’s not a draft, it’s the ghost,” Anders replied, and he winced when something lightly pinched his thigh. “Look, I’m not about to have Hawke believe her house is drafty when it’s _you_, you know.”

Anders’s cutlery rattled slightly as the lights overhead flickered unsteadily. Sebastian subtly leaned away from him. Anders rolled his eyes and batted at the cold spot in the chair.

“Behave, you ass. You can dump a bag of flour on me later if you’re really pissed,” Anders said firmly. Two sulky sounding knocks emanated next to his plate as the light steadied. Anders returned to his meal, aware of the several pairs of eyes fixated on him.

“You really _can_ talk to them!” Merrill whispered in awe.

“It would be easier if I had my things, but we’ve got a system worked out,” Anders said modestly, all too aware that every eye was on him now.

“I promised I’d go to the library tomorrow, do some research and see if I can find out more about the place,” he added quickly. “They don’t really remember who they are, which can happen in cases of… well, if their death was particularly traumatic, a ghost might not remember what happened. They’re confused.”

One sharp rap emanated from the table.

“Yes, yes, you’re not confused, you just don’t remember,” Anders said hastily. “I promise, we’ll figure that out. Library and all that shit,”

Two knocks, and the spirit fell silent. The room was quiet as well, everyone holding their breath and staring at the empty chair next to Anders. Anders looked expectantly at the empty chair, waiting for his ghost to say something else, but they seemed done for now. He shrugged and returned to his glass of wine.

“Neat, that,” Varric said, breaking the eerie hush that fell over the room. “Any chance you’re just popping your knuckles or something, or is this a genuine haunting?”

As if the ghost was personally offended by the suggestion that they weren’t real, the entire room dropped in temperature. The lights flickered before cutting out completely, plunging the room into dim shadows. Frost rimmed Anders’s wine glass, ice spidering out across the glass. His breath fogged out in front of him, and when he looked down the table he saw the others shivering. He slowly turned towards the empty chair, where the coldness was emanating, and-

The chair was no longer empty. A mass of inky black shadow sat in the chair. It was as dark as the night, as dark as the void. The mass started to solidify, tendrils drawing closer and closer until it formed a humanoid shape of shadow stuff. Anders heard Sebastian muttering a passage of the Chant of Light behind him while Isabela and Aveline shouted a slurry of curses that would make a sailor blush.

“Oh, Creators!” Merrill breathed out.

“Fuck!” Hawke wheezed.

“Don’t be a dramatic ass,” Anders firmly told the ghost. “Varric didn’t mean any harm, there’s a lot of charlatans out there.”

The shadow manifestation turned its head towards him. Faceless. Non-identifiable. Damn it, Anders had hoped putting a name to his ghost would be easy, but ghosts are never easy. Spirits and demons? Simple. They were attracted to things, wanted things, got stuck in the icky physical world and couldn’t find their way back to the Fade- simple problems to solve, really. But ghosts? A mortal soul was a lot more complex. There were lives to unravel, pasts to discover, grudges to lay to rest, business that must be concluded. Ghosts are never easy, but this one spectre might be the most challenging one Anders had come across yet.

“I think everyone is suitably impressed, ghost,” Anders added. “You’re real. We see you. And we’re going to help you find your name.”

As if satisfied, the shadow apparition slowly dissolved, tendrils of shadow melting away until the chair was once again empty. The room slowly returned to a more comfortable temperature. The lights stuttered back to life, almost too bright after the dark were in.

“The fuck?” Hawke asked, her normally strong voice a little bit squeaky. “The fuck was that? Anders?!”

“Our ghost. Guess they’re a bit touchy about being ignored,” Anders said. “Hey, ghost, I don’t want to exactly destroy Hawke and Merrill’s kitchen, but there’s some pepper on the table- sorry, Merrill, I’ll clean it up.”

Something (an invisible hand?) knocked over the pepper shaker, and the little granules slowly spelled out a tiny “tired” on the white tablecloth.

“Yeah, manifestations take a lot of energy. Thanks for coming down with me, though. Library tomorrow?”

Two soft knocks. After a few moments of waiting, Anders took a sip of his wine. If the ghost was still in the room, they weren’t up to chatting. Encouraged by the lack of paranormal activity, conversation at the table started at a low murmur, everyone talking over each other with their questions and remarks.

“Shit. Fuck. _Shit_!” Aveline swore.

“Stupid phone battery died- Hawke, do you have a pen? Tell me you have a pen and paper, I need to get this down when it’s fresh,” Varric grumbled.

“Well, you certainly won’t be a boring neighbor, Anders!” Isabela exclaimed with a light laugh.

“Holy Andraste, you’re certain they’re a ghost?” Sebastian asked, which made Anders roll his eyes.

“Absolutely. A spirit doesn’t do drama- they don’t really get it? Demons wouldn’t waste time with all the flickering lights and cold spots,” Anders retorted. “Ghosts, though? They struggle with communication and are the souls of mortals. Who is more dramatic than a person who can’t make themselves heard?”

“Anders, how _did_ you manage to talk to them? The ghost never would talk to me, even though I conducted a seance and everything! They’re quite moody.” Merrill said, her big green eyes full of excitement. She leaned towards him, hanging on every word. Her long silver necklace dropped into her salad bowl, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Don’t know. I yelled at them for waking me up, they felt bad, then I felt bad and here we are,” Anders replied. “But I’m fairly confident that I can help. I’ve always been able to help ghosts before. I know I can help here.”

-

Dinner was surprisingly normal after the ghost’s manifestation. Hawke declared that it was one of the more entertaining dinner parties she had, though her siblings would be jealous that they missed out on the fun.

“Not Mum, though,” she confided as Anders said his goodbyes. “She’d have told the ghost off for not RSVP-ing.”

Anders got back to his apartment and played with Pounce and Justice for a time, tossing tinsel balls down the hall and watching them chase and retrieve the little crinkly bits of silver tinsel. Every once in a while Anders would wander past the kitchen counter and see if his ghost wanted to chat some more. The flour remained smooth and unmarked.

“I’m off to bed, ghost,” Anders finally announced after the fifth time he walked by the counter. “You’re probably still tired, but I set my alarm for nine and I’ll head to the library before noon. That sound good with you?”

Two soft knocks emanated from the nearby bookshelf.

“Good! Night, then!” Anders said cheerfully, and he went to bed. He was so tired he didn’t even burrow under the covers- he just flopped down in his sleep shirt and boxers and fell asleep.

He woke up to a bright, tinny tune blasting on his phone. Anders rolled over and realized that he was tucked under a colorful pile of blankets. Half of his linen closet was spread out haphazardly over his body, and he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

“Softy,” he murmured, and a breeze ruffled his hair.

-

His ghost, it seemed, was able to follow him. Whatever energy they lost last night they regained, and they flitted around the library ruffling Anders’s hair and making the lined pages of his notebook flutter back and forth. They were a mischievous spirit, and they weren’t inclined to let Anders work in peace. Anders scanned another yellowed newspaper dated fifty years ago for any information about the house he lived in, the general area, and any unusual or traumatic deaths.

“None of this looks familiar to you?” Anders asked, and he got one knock in return. “Fuck it, I’m trying another tactic. We’ll go through modern papers- how long have you been haunting the place?”

No response, which, of course, Anders should have expected. That wasn’t an easy “yes or no” question, was it? And if the ghost couldn’t even remember something as simple as their name, who knew how they perceived time. But as he’d been pouring through these papers for the past hour with no progress, he was willing to spend a bit of time crafting a good question with a simple yes or no answer.

“Did you start haunting the apartment before or after Hawke and Merrill got the place? One for before, two for after,” Anders added.

Two knocks, and Anders grinned.

“Perfect! We’ll get all the newspapers from the past year- good news, ghost, you’re a modern phantom! Not that it wouldn’t have been interesting to find out you were some legendary figure from the Dragon Age, but whatever. It will be easier to find out who you are now!” Anders said confidentially. He pulled out a small pile of newspapers from the past year and started to scan obituaries and odd news reports.

His confidence started waning by hour two. By hour three Anders was horrified by the amount of death and violence in Kirkwall. He thought he was prepared. He was constantly working in the slums, but Maker’s Balls he had no idea. And his ghost could be any one of these people, which was horrifying to think about. Just another name on the list.

Anders flipped to the next newspaper, the Sunday edition published on the fifth of Drakonis, and wearily flipped through the articles to reach the obituaries when a headline on the second page caught his eye.

**Blood Magic Ritual Leaves Five Dead, Victim In Coma**

“Andraste’s Tits, that’s some dark shit,” Anders muttered, and he would have turned the page had the air not turned to ice around him. His breath formed a white cloud in front of his face. Other library patrons shivered, pulling on jackets and glowering up at the ancient heating system. The old librarian hobbled over to the thermostat to see why it was acting up, but Anders knew it was no thermostat failure.

“Ghost?” Anders whispered.

One knock. No. Another knock, then another, and another, until it was no longer a series of knocks but a vicious sort of rattling sound that shook the heavy oak table. The panicked knocking only grew faster and louder, and Anders pushed himself back as his ghost said ‘no, no, no No NO NONONONONONO” in the only way they could.

“Ghost? Ghost, what’s-” Anders’s question was interrupted when the newspaper he was just reading burst into flames. Fire curled the pages, scorching the wood surface, and the flames ate the paper up. The last words Anders managed to read were “-male patient currently at St. Justinia Hospital, where-“ before the entire paper turned to ash. As if to compound the entire incident, the sprinkler system turned on and turned the entire pile into a pile of sodden, burnt and blackened paper.

“It wasn’t me!” Anders announced to anyone who was listening, but no one either heard or much cared as they frantically tried to save their books and laptops from the sprinklers overhead. After a moment of waiting to see if any librarians were going to shout at him, Anders grabbed his own bag and rushed through the doors.

He had to talk to his ghost.

-

It was dark in his apartment, when Anders entered it. Pounce and Justice were cuddled up together on the couch, but they both leapt off the beaten up cushions and wound around his ankles. While Justice was quiet, Pounce yowled anxiously and pushed against his calves, leading him towards the kitchen. It was icy cold. His ghost had been lurking here for some time, it seemed. The flour was scattered across the counter, and cutlery and dishes lay on the floor. Anders frowned as he gingerly stepped around shattered glass and porcelain.

“Did you break my Kinloch Prep mug?” Anders asked, and after a moment of silence there were two knocks. He hadn’t thought a knock could sound sullen and brooding, but his ghost somehow managed it. Anders sighed and leaned against the counter. He watched the flour on the counter.

“Never liked that mug much anyways. Kinloch was the worst,” Anders said easily. “Everything else is old, should probably get a matching set of dishes. But it was a dick move, ghost. I can’t exactly drink coffee from the pot.”

The flour shifted slightly, as if the ghost wanted to say something, but then thought better of it.

“But… I can’t really be mad at you. That was a show at the library,” Anders remarked. The flour moved then, moved slowly, but it was moving until one word neatly stood out.

“Sorry.”

“I accept your apology. Was that… were you related to that incident? With the blood magic?”

Two knocks.

“So that was what killed you?” Anders asked.

The flour started to move again.

“Complicated. Not a Mage. Not sure what happened. Unconscious. Cold, hurt, then nothing,” Anders read. “Okay, okay, if you remember that much, do you know your name?”

Two knocks. A hand smoothed the flour out, erasing their fragmented explanation of what happened to them during that ritual. Blood magic. The very words made Anders shiver. While he knew that the news media in Southern Thedas was by no means Mage or magic friendly, there were few schools of magic as dangerous as blood magic. And a ritual, where someone was unconscious, in pain- Maker’s Balls, did they sacrifice someone? Oh Maker, he was going to be sick- it was his ghost, wasn’t it? They sacrificed his ghost and now they were in the apartment, trapped, unable to move on. What _happened_?! The name stood out neatly, black countertop against white flour.

“Fenris,” Anders read. Two knocks.

“Hello, Fenris,” Anders said, and the hand (Fenris’s hand, or willpower, or whatever it was) swept the name away.

“Hello, Anders,” Fenris wrote.

“Fenris. I’m going to figure out what happened to you, I promise,” Anders said. The chill in the air and light brushing of something against his face still surprised him, but it was less frightening now that he had a name to put to the haunting.

Fenris. He lived in an apartment with a ghost named Fenris, Fenris, a ghost who stomped up and down hallways but apologized by finding your lost possessions. Fenris, who had a dry sense of humor whenever he decided to speak. Fenris, who was an incorrigible flirt. Fenris, who was his _friend_! Anders was going to figure out what happened to Fenris, he was going to learn the truth, he was going to _help_-

One knock.

“You can’t just demand I not look into this, Fenris. Helping ghosts and solving magical mishaps it my job. Night job, I suppose, but helping people is part of the Warden creed _somewhere_,” Anders retorted,

“Dangerous,” Fenris wrote. “Too dangerous. I know my name, that’s enough.”

“You’re not stopping me, Fenris. I said I’d help you and that’s what I’ll do,” Anders said stubbornly, and though Fenris didn’t write anything else, Anders felt his ghost fluttering around him for the rest of the day as Anders booted up his ancient laptop and started to read everything he could about this mysterious, horrific blood magic ritual that occured in early Drakonis. The cats curled up on the couch next to him as he poured over whatever scant information he could find.

There was very little in the news beyond the initial report- someone (apparently some higher-ups in Tevineter) managed to keep things quiet, but not before the names of the deceased were leaked to the public- five people, all humans, two from Tevinter, one a Kirkwall native, two from Orlais. All well-respected in the public eye. Only three mages. The blood magic ritual they intended to perform involved a sacrifice of some kind, but the spells went wrong. The comatose victim was an elvhen male, name withheld for privacy.

None of the named dead were named Fenris, which meant...

“Maker’s Balls, I’m going to be sick,” Anders muttered, and he buried his face in Pounce’s soft fur, because his ghost was Fenris, and Fenris wasn’t _dead_.

-

The hard part of figuring out how to help Fenris was that he wasn’t dead. He was in a coma, stuck in a ward in St. Justinia, and clearly something had gone wrong and he needed rescuing. Anders wasn’t used to helping ghosts who weren’t dead. The cynical, selfish part of Anders (which was larger than he liked to admit) wanted to abandon the whole thing. Maker’s balls, _Fenris_ wanted him to abandon the entire endeavor! Since his board and other equipment finally came in, Anders found it easier and easier to chat with Fenris. They maintained their traditional methods of communication, but every once in a while Anders would pull out pendulums and boards to speak with Fenris. He liked having conversations with Fenris, and Fenris had a good deal of things to say. Chiefly, Fenris wanted Anders to stay far, far away from whatever nasty business knocked him out of his body and left him in his current spirit form.

“It was bad,” Fenris said. “Leave it be.”

But Anders was stubborn, and the healer in him just couldn’t let things go on the way they had been. Fenris needed help, and Anders knew he could help. He just needed to find a way to see Fenris himself so he could figure out what sort of spells and magic he was trapped in. He needed to get into St. Justinia Hospital. But how?

Getting into St. Justinia’s was easier than Anders expected. He didn’t even have to sneak onto the premise, or flash his Warden medic badge. No, it was easy to walk into St. Justinia, because he was _invited_.

“Enchanter Wynne informed me that you were her greatest pupil when it comes to spirit healing,” Dr. Solas Harel said lightly. He set a steaming mug of tea down in front of Anders before sitting down in a pale grey armchair across from Anders. Dr. Harel’s office was surprisingly colorful, with large paintings covering nearly every wall. It would have been a comfortable room to sit in, but Dr. Solas Harel was unnervingly observant. Anders was almost afraid to breathe in the man’s presence!

“That’s a surprise, Dr. Harel. She never said anything like that to my face,” Anders muttered. Enchanter Wynne was his favorite instructor at Kinloch, and a fantastic healer in her own right, but she was incredibly hard on Anders when he was her student. She didn’t tolerate shenanigans on her watch, and Anders liked to joke that he turned her hair grey. To know that she thought so highly of him that she’d recommend him to other doctors was… surprising.

“Solas, please. She also mentioned that you are an experienced combat medic, volunteer as a doctor for Apostate Med, and run a side business as a magical consultant,” Solas added. He steepled his long fingers together and looked over this fingertips at Anders, pinning him to the couch with his pale grey gaze.

“I am pleased that such a uniquely qualified individual has come into Kirkwall, right when I needed the assistance,” Solas finally stated. “An unusual case has come into my ward, and perhaps someone with your varied experience can help me make sense of it all.”

“... at the risk of sounding a bit off, does it have to do with a blood magic ritual gone wrong, sometime in early Drakonis this year?” Anders asked, and when Solas’s grey eyes widened with surprise Anders grinned.

“Your patient has been haunting my apartment complex for the past few months,” Anders explained. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to get into St. Justinia’s for the past week so I could figure out what happened to him.”

“I suppose we must call this fate, then,” Solas mused. “As it is, we’re at a loss here. There isn’t any case quite like Mr. Agosti’s. Would you like to see him?”

“I probably should,” Anders began to say, but a firm knock on the glass top of the coffee table interrupted him. While Solas raised one thin brow in mild surprise, Anders rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“I can’t exactly help you wake up if you won’t let me see you, Fenris,” Anders informed his ghost, but Fenris emphatically disagreed and knocked once again. No. No, Anders couldn’t go and see Fenris. No, he wanted to be left alone. No, no, no.

“I’m a healer, Fenris. I can’t heal without seeing my patients,” Anders explained, but Fenris was insistent. Anders could not see him. No.

“Interesting,” Solas murmured, and he looked like he was about to hop out of his chair and head to his irritatingly sleek, modern desk so he could take notes on this interaction.

“Okay, I won’t visit today,” Anders relented, because Fenris kept dropping the temperature like a complete _asshole_ and Anders was fairly certain that Fenris’s physical condition wouldn’t change drastically in 24 hours.

“That doesn’t mean this is off the table, Fenris. I just won’t visit today. We’ll talk later, back home,” Anders said, and the two sulky knocks that followed were easy to interpret.

“Fine,” Fenris said with those knocks. “But I don’t have to like it, you dick.” Anders roller his eyes and smiled apologetically at Solas.

“Sorry. He’s a bit touchy about the whole ‘dead but not dead’ thing. He’s still convinced that I’ll get hurt if I try to help him,” Anders explained. The grim expression that crossed Solas’s face did not reassure Anders in the slightest. What now?

“He… may have valid concerns,” Solas said slowly. That quiet admission sent chills up and down Anders’s spine. May have concerns? Not a good sign. Nothing was easy about ghosts, and when magic went wild it got dangerous fast. How much danger was Fenris really in?

“Can you give me his file? Everything you know?” Anders asked.

“Yes, of course. You’ll be working on his case, after all. It is simply… I suppose that there is an appeal to remaining as a spirit,” Solas mused. “Mr. Agosti was found in the midst of a… horrific situation. The physical trauma was immense, and the emotional toll must be vast. To no longer be confined to a body that is in such pain, to have the abilities he now wields… well, who wouldn’t want to remain?”

The thought that Fenris would want to remain as a ghost forever was horrifying to comprehend, and Anders’s heart sank. If he was going to help Fenris heal, he needed to figure out exactly what happened to him. As he looked down at the large folder Solas handed him, Anders saw the name of the Templar Captain who wrote the report and grimaced. Well, there was nothing else to be done. Anders would have to talk to him.

Hopefully, in doing so, he’d find the answers he needed.

-

“If you read the report I wrote, you have all the information I have on the case,” Templar Knight Captain (and all around pain in the ass) Cullen Stanton Rutherford informed Anders. “Not to mention, my report will be far more accurate than whatever I could tell you now.”

Getting on the red line to get to the Templar Headquarters in Hightown was utterly miserable. It was lunch time, everyone was out, the day was surprisingly hot, and Anders was going to talk to a Templar. Not just a Templar, Anders thought sullenly as he looked around the small, impersonal white-walled office, but a Templar he knew.

“Regardless, I want to hear any observations you made. Feelings, strange sights, anything out of the ordinary,” Anders said politely, and he tried to forget the past. Forgetting was hard, though. He and Cullen had both been at Kinloch as teenagers, but while Anders was a known trouble-maker Cullen was the golden boy who did no wrong. Anders could admit that he held a bit of a grudge, but Cullen was just as quick to judge and stand by his opinions- in his eyes, Anders was forever sixteen and sneaking out to smoke elfroot on the roof. Even now he was eyeing Anders with suspicion, as if he half expected a fireball to set his neat stacks of paperwork ablaze.

This was for Fenris, Anders reminded himself, and Fenris deserved his best efforts. After he came back from St. Justinia’s yesterday, Fenris spent the rest of the day anxiously hovering over Anders, brushing his hair and repeatedly begging that Anders let him be. Dangerous, he kept saying over and over. Too dangerous, please stay away. And while the concern and care Fenris showed him was touching, it only strengthened his resolve. Anders was going to help him, no matter what it took.

“Mr. Leto ‘Fenris’ Agosti is one of my patients, Knight Captain. If there’s anything you remember, anything that seemed out of place to you, it very well might be the key to untangling this mystery,” Anders pleaded. “You’re a Templar, you’ve seen rituals like this before, Cullen.”

“Not like this,” Cullen muttered. That admittance seemed to break the icy wall around the man, and he shuddered. Suddenly he wasn’t the smug teenager Anders remembered, but a very tired man who had seen some shit.

“Maker’s Breath, Anders, it wasn’t… it’s not a pleasant thing to talk about. Still have nightmares. Blood everywhere, burnt out husks of- of people. They burned themselves alive doing whatever it was they were doing. And your patient? Lines all carved into his skin, with chunks of raw lyrium shoved in every cut-” Cullen took a deep breath. Anders had read the reports. Andraste’s Panties, he’d seen the crime scene pictures, and pictures of Fenris’s body (his face was never photographed). But hearing Cullen describe the scene, watching his skin turn ashen and his expression grow bleak, made Anders’s skin crawl.

“I think they wanted to melt the lyrium and form a circuit,” Cullen eventually concluded. “I can’t be certain, but it was the only theoryI could come up with that explained the way the cuts were made- like a circulatory system. It explained the chunks of lyrium- the pure stuff. It… it explained the burning.”

“They needed high temperatures to melt crystallized lyrium. The spells backfired, obviously. But… oh shit,” Anders breathed out, and he felt the sour taste and burn of bile build up in the back of his throat. Oh shit shit shit!

“What?” Cullen asked suspiciously.

“Arcane Warrior. They wanted to make someone who could phase between our world and the Fade,” Anders managed to croak out. Fuck, no wonder Fenris had no desire to go back to his body! Who would, if they had gone through all that and knew what lay ahead of them?

“But why?” Cullen whispered, his tired brown eyes blown wide in horror.

“The people performing the ritual, they were all powerful figures who, with a bit of digging, had some shady dealings. Do you know how _useful_ an Arcane Warrior would be to people like that? They could be a spy, assassin, whatever you needed, whenever you need them,” Anders explained, panic rising in his chest. Maker’s Balls, that could have been Fenris! If everything had gone as these monsters planned, Fenris would be chained to them and their whims and he’d be as trapped in the waking world as he was now in the Fade.

He had to fix this. No one deserved this horrible half-life!

“It certainly fits with what information we have,” Cullen reluctantly agreed. “But no one has successfully performed such a feat, at least in modern records.”

“Look, you’ve got high up Mages from Tevinter involved- a Magister and his Altus apprentice. The sort of prestige they’d gain from reviving ancient magical techniques is… well, I’m not saying that Tevinter’s completely backwards, but they’re not the shining beacon of humanitarianism, are they?” Anders said, and he stood up from his seat. Cullen really ought to invest in better seating, Anders thought. The straight-backed wooden chair was horribly uncomfortable. He was going to have a sore back, come tomorrow morning, but it was all for Fenris. It was going to be worth it,

“At least they are done with, and if you are now treating the victim…” Cullen stood and held out his hand. “You’ve always been a good healer. I think you can manage this.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. And thanks for the help, Knight Captain,” Anders said. He didn’t shake Cullen’s hand, but after a moment’s hesitation he waved farewell. Cullen copied the motion awkwardly.

It wasn’t forgiveness or friendship, but it was something. Anders could handle that.

-

“So, Fenris,” Anders informed his ghost. “I’m helping you- don’t! Don’t start. I’m helping, and that’s that.”

“Ah, a comfort to know my autonomy has been snatched away again,” Fenris retorted through the ouija board, and Anders snorted. Fenris was many things: a ghost, a flirt, a caring roommate, but right now he was being a sarcastic jerk!

“You can shout at me once you’re in your meat suit. Flesh body. Whatever. Point is, you can yell at me when you’re up and walking again,” Anders retorted. “I’m conducting a seance so I can see into the Fade and figure out exactly what I need to do.”

“And you’ll do it no matter what I say, won’t you?” Fenris asked.

“I’ve done seances all my life, Fenris. I’m an expert,” Anders assured him. “You’re in good hands with me in charge.”

Fenris, however reluctant he initially was, agreed to participate in the seance after a few hours of arguing through ouija board, knocking, and even writing in the flour. Anders immediately set about making his plans. Hawke eagerly offered up her living room for the event.

“It will make Merrill’s year,” she said when Anders tried to thank her for supplying venue, table, and chairs. “Seriously, she’s going to be thrilled.”

Then there was finding the proper number and gathering of guests. They all needed to have some sort of connection with Fenris, something that would draw his Fade trapped spirit towards them. He invited all of Hawke’s friends who happened to be present for when Fenris manifested at dinner. He invited the other residents of the apartment who happened to hear Fenris when he was wandering around the complex. He even invited Cullen, because the man was one of the first people on the scene after the ritual ended in disaster and he needed a few more bodies to complete the circuit. Anders hadn’t expected that anyone would accept the invitation, but, much to his surprise, all of Hawke’s pals eagerly agreed to show up. Sebastian even offered to nab some Chantry candles blessed by the Divine, which, while thoughtful, wasn’t necessary. Even Cullen agreed to come, and a little bit of the bitterness Anders held melted away. Not completely, never completely gone, but just enough that Anders couldn’t be completely hardened against the man.

Then there was the research, which Anders poured himself into when he wasn’t at work in the clinic. He needed to find ties to Fenris, things that would help guide him towards the part of the man that remained in the Fade. Every day Anders worked and researched, and every evening he had dinner with Fenris. Fenris no longer tried to discourage him from conducting a seance, and instead they spent their evenings talking. Just talking. Sometimes Anders would ramble about his childhood, and other times he’d talk about work. Fenris would sometimes talk of his life as well, even though his answers were short and disjointed. He was from Tevinter. He was an artist of some kind, and worked as a bartender. He never had pets, but liked Pounce and Justice (which only made Anders like him more). He had been planning to move to Seheron when what happened to him happened. Kidnapping. Blood ritual. Imprisonment in the Fade.

“Danarius. Complicated. Bad history,” Fenris said, and the sharp way he moved the planchet around the board convinced Anders that this was not the time or place to pry further. 

“I trusted him. Should have known better,” Fenris added, and he pushed the planchet to rest on ‘End.’ Anders let him go and returned to planning the seance, but he was distracted as he listed what materials he needed to purchase. What would it be like to speak with Fenris without the use of a board or flour? What would it be like to talk to Fenris face-to-face, to actually _see_ his face? He knew so little of what Fenris looked like, and every time he thought of those crime scene photographs he winced. Whenever he thought of those injuries, the blood, the precise cuts, the lyrium, Anders wanted to set the people who did that to Fenris on fire. Again. 

He also wished he could hold Fenris close and promise that this would never happen again, that he’d fix this and all would be well. Anders was fairly confident that Fenris wouldn’t mind. Andraste’s Panties, Fenris was plenty affectionate with him, always playing with his hair, and lightly pinching his arm, his thigh- and Anders only pretended that he hadn’t noticed the gentle pat on his backside when he said good night to Fenris. Handsy, flirtatious ghost!

But he wasn’t a ghost. Fenris was a man in need of help. And somehow, Anders was the only one who could help him.

Maker help them both.

-

“How do I look?” Anders asked Pounce and Justice as he spun around in a circle to display his outfit- head to toe black, from the tips of his lace up boots to the feather capelet draped around his shoulders. His black skirt swirled around his calves in a dramatic flutter. Everyone expected a witch to dress the part, and Anders relished the opportunity to finally pull his favorite black statement pieces from his closet. Between settling into his Warden job and helping Fenris, he hadn’t had the chance to pull some of his witchy wardrobe out of the closet until tonight.

Anders looked expectantly at the cats and twirled around again, gauzy fabric brushing against his legs. Pounce rolled around and batted at a dust mote. Justice yawned, scrunching his big blue eyes shut. Anders huffed. He wasn’t going to get any help from _them_, was he?

“I bet Fenris would answer my question,” Anders muttered. “Bet he’d say ‘Oh, Anders, you look elegant and dashing, you should dress up more often!’”

Two knocks emanated from the dresser. Anders jumped.

“Did you watch me dress?” he demanded, and the soft, singular knock was so sheepish Anders rolled his eyes.

“Liar,” he said without any real heat behind it, because it was Fenris, his flirtatious, sarcastic, charming ghost. Anders liked Fenris! But not in an intensely romantic wat, of course not! That would be silly. Anders wasn’t the sort who fell in love, especially with a ghost, half-ghost, whatever it was Fenris currently was. Point was, Anders didn’t fall in love. He just liked flirting, and Fenris was very good at flirting. They had _fun_, and that was all it had to be.

“Whatever. Since you’re the only one who actually answered my question, does this look good? Suitably mysterious and witch-like?” Anders asked. Two knocks in response. Anders grinned.

“Excellent! We’ll head downstairs and get started, then. Ready?”

The yes was a little less enthusiastic this time. Anders guessed this was more of a “I suppose I must be,” rather than a “I am absolutely ready,” but he’d take what he could get. Anders jammed a black, wide brimmed felt hat on his head and gathered everything he needed before heading down to Hawke and Merrill’s apartment. Before he shut his door, Anders glanced over to the flour on the countertop.

“I’ll meet you there,” Fenris said.

“See you soon, then,” Anders called back before running downstairs.

Hawke ushered him inside with a grand flourish, and Merrill handed him a pumpkin the moment he was welcomed into the dining room.

“I just need you to put that on the sideboard, we’ve borrowed a round wooden table from Sebastian, and I pulled out a lovely purple tablecloth- you look very nice, Anders,” Merrill said when she finally took his appearance in. “I like your hat!”

“Thank you, Merrill,” Anders replied, hefting the large orange pumpkin up in his arms and balancing it on his hip. He set it down on the highly polished sideboard and looked around the dining room. Someone (most likely Merrill) placed candles on literally every surface. The dark purple tablecloth really was lovely, a deep aubergine that felt soft under his fingertips. With the thick curtains drawn shut and the candlelight, the atmosphere in the Hawke/Merrill dining room was cozy, inviting, and just a little mysterious.

Perfect atmosphere for peeking into the Fade. Merrill knew her stuff.

“It looks great, Merrill,” Anders said, and Merrill positively beamed with joy. Her dark green eyes glowed with excitement.

“I’m glad you think so, Anders,” Merrill gushed. “I know that Andrastian witches do things differently, but I’ve always used set-ups like this before, and had good results before.” She gestured towards the candles, the tablecloth, the many plants, both potted and cut, scattered around the room. Anders took off his hat and set it on a chair around the table before he set his own candles and incense on the table.

“I believe that a combination of our different techniques might be the thing that helps us find out what happened to Fenris,” Anders confided. “From what I can tell, whatever was done to him was a mix of many traditions and… well, we might as well call it experimentation.”

“Ah, so you think it might take a combination of many magical schools to See into the Fade!” Merrill concluded. “That makes a good deal of sense, oh, what I wouldn’t give to have a dreamer with us- Hawke’s more into explosions and Force, and dreamers are so rare, after all.”

“We’ll work with who we have and manage just fine. Between the two of us, we’re sure to See,” Anders replied. As more people drifted into the apartment, Anders took stock of who they were and what they brought to the seance.

Hawke greeted her guests at the door, all smiles and loud conversation with every guest. She was the one with the deepest ties to the building, the place Fenris haunted. Hawke would help serve as a centering influence in their circle.

Merrill flitted from spot to spot, adjusting candles, murmuring protective charms as she set about making the room safe and secure. Her expertise would keep them safe and guide them to Fenris. There was something deeply comforting about working with another expert in the field. It wasn’t often that two witches worked together.

Aveline Vallen was the first to show up. Steady Aveline grounded them all into reality. Nothing was going to try and slip past her watchful gaze. She entered the dining room and stiffly said hello before heading into the kitchen to drink some water.

Sharp eyed Isabela came in next. She’d certainly spot anything unusual, and her relaxed demeanor would lighten the mood considerably.

Sebastian entered with Varric. The two of them were arguing, Sebastian mildly rebuking Varric for something while Varric joked right back. Varric was another steady, solid presence at the table, and Sebastian? Well, it never hurt to have a man of the cloth around for these sorts of things.

Last, but not least, was Cullen, someone who had seen Fenris in person. It would be better to have someone who actually knew Fenris from before he went ghostly, but beggars can’t be choosers and all that, Anders thought. Cullen sheepishly knocked on the door and was let in by Hawke. Her bright blue eyes gleamed with something like sinister delight, and her smile was slightly predatory.

“Oh ho ho, look at who came by for dinner,” Hawke said dryly when Cullen stepped into the dining room. “Ghost dinner.”

“Hawke,” Cullen muttered.

“Wait, you two know each other?” Anders asked. 

“Everyone knows Hawke,” Isabela remarked. “And everyone knows that Hawke’s a snoop.”

“I’m a journalist, Isabela dear,” Hawke retorted, and Cullen scowled.

“You _broke_ into my _office_!” he protested.

“The door was open,” Hawke said breezily.

“After you picked the lock,” Cullen retorted. The accusation hardly phased Hawke, who only shrugged and batted her eyes innocently.

“Please, please children, calm down!” Varric interrupted. “We can all argue later. I think we’re here for something else, aren’t we?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Sebastian said mildly before looking at Anders expectantly. Anders took a deep breath, ready to address the small crowd piled into Hawke and Merrill’s dining room, when a cool breeze brushed against his face and pulled lightly at his hair. The candles flickered, but did not blow out, and the air gained a slightly chilly cast to it.

Fenris had arrived. His presence rounded them all up to nine. Good, steady number, nine. Three of three. Anders approached the table and cleared his throat.

“This evening we are going to peer into the Fade in order to help a fellow apartment denizen and friend,” Anders explained. “So, if everyone will take a seat at the table- Merrill, you sit across from me, you’re co-leading this seance- we will begin.”

There was a rush to find seats at the table, and soon all eight people were seated. Fenris stood behind Anders. He could feel the icy cold through his capelet. With Isabela at his right and Cullen to his left, Anders began the seance. He instructed everyone to lay hands on the table and, with Merrill’s help, he searched for a small tear in the Veil so that he could look into the Fade.

That part was astonishingly easy. Perhaps it was because there were three Mages at the table. Perhaps it was having another witch to work with. Perhaps it was the fact that Fenris was right there in the room with them, working as a guide. Whatever it was, searching for the Fade was _easy_, and Anders shut his eyes, reached out, and-

The Fade was icy cold on his face. Anders knew his body was still in the physical world, but the Fade felt cold. He took one step, then another, walking forward into the misty bleakness of the Fade. Not too far in, mind, but just enough that he was fully immersed within the Fade. Now, all he had to do was find Fenris. Easy, right? The Fade was a vast place, he’d have to tread carefully, there was no knowing-

Anders took a step and nearly tripped over an enormous iron chain. It was pulled taut, one end disappearing into the greenish-grey, sickly mists of the Fade, and the other end stretched out into the warmth and sturdiness of the physical world behind him. Each individual link in the chain spanned the length and thickness of his thumb.

“Too easy,” Anders muttered, but he lightly ran his hand along the freezing cold iron. Using the chain as a guide, Anders headed further into the Fade and walked ever closer to Fenris. As he walked, he noticed the small runes crudely carved into each link- runes for chaining, binding, control. The runes, when brought together, were meant to subjugate the spirit of the bound person to the binder’s will.

“Maker’s Breath,” Anders whispered. “They really were trying to create an arcane warrior.” They didn’t just try to make an arcane warrior out of Fenris Anders realized. They wanted to crush his will, turn him into a puppet, an automaton, a- Anders clutched the chain tightly in his hand. Well, they failed. They failed and Anders would make sure that every link in this bloody chain was melted down into useless puddles. He walked on further into the Fade.

“Fenris? Fenris, if you can hear me, stay where you are,” Anders called out. “I’m coming to get you out of this place- stupid Fade, no maps or guideposts, just a creepy mass of mist and weird landscapes, why can’t we- agh!” There was a shadowy shape in the mist, right where the chain led.

“Fenris? Is that you?” Anders asked as the mists cleared. The chain rattled, iron links clinking together as the mass slowly rose up and revealed itself. A white wolf, large, imposing, and chained with a heavy iron collar around its neck. His neck, because Anders knew the wolf was Fenris. A part of Fenris, at least, the part trapped in the Fade that kept him stuck as a ghost and kept his body comatose in the hospital. Anders slowly approached.

“Fenris, it’s me. Anders. I’m going to get this off you, just let me have a look at the collar,” Anders crooned as he stepped closer. Fenris’s legs shook, and he collapsed into the cold earth of the Fade. Anders stepped closer and ran a hand against the cold iron. Fenris had been in the Fade for too long if he couldn’t even maintain his normal shape and was wearing a sort of alternate, spiritual form. He couldn’t walk, could barely stand, and the iron collar was rubbing his spirit flesh raw. Anders grasped the collar firmly and noted every rune. He wasn’t an expert at runes. He didn’t do crafting or artificing of any kind. But Hawke wasn’t the only one who had a talent for destruction, and Anders drew on all his knowledge for burning, blasting, and breaking to break the collar and chain.

It only took moments, but the process was draining. The Mages who crafted the chain may have failed in their ritual, but they crafted a powerful binding object. But when the iron collar snapped off Fenris’s neck, Anders crowed with joy as he watched it melt into the ground, never to be used again.

“There! You’re free!” Anders exclaimed with a grin, and Fenris gave him a toothy grin in return on his wolf face. Anders felt a tug from the physical world, and as Fenris’s wolf form faded from view, Anders locked eyes with Fenris’s green-gold gaze.

And then the world went dark.

Anders woke up on Hawke’s couch. Blankets were piled high on top of him, and he heard people all around him. There was faint murmured conversation in the kitchen, and someone was clanging pots and pans around. But other than the mild disorientation and minor headache, Anders felt… fine. He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Isabela’s gorgeous face appeared above him, and she smiled.

“Hey, sweet thing,” Isabela crooned. “Hawke, he’s up!”

“What-” Anders asked as he pulled himself up, “what happened?”

“You fainted,” Hawke said helpfully as Isabela flopped down on the other couch next to her. “Merrill says that’s normal if you’re going to wander the Fade. Have to be unconscious for it while we protect the body and spirit, blah blah blah- but apparently Fenris isn’t in the apartment anymore.”

Anders has already guessed that much when he woke up without hearing frantic knocking or feeling a cool breeze on his cheek. Having it confirmed was nice, though.

“Dr. Harel called to say Fenris finally woke up at the hospital. Briefly. Fell asleep again. He apparently has a lot of recovery to get through,” Varric added as he entered the living room and sat down in an armchair. “Cullen got a call from work and left, Aveline and Sebastian are helping with clean-up, and Daisy’s in the kitchen and thrilled with the results, so I think it’s been a successful night overall.”

Merrill rushed into the living room with a steaming mug of tea in her hands. Anders took it gratefully.

“Thanks. Did he say anything?” Anders asked. Silence greeted his query, and he sighed.

“Well, it’s good news regardless, right? I mean, most people don’t remember what happens to them in the Fade, unless they’re a Mage. Or have certain protections on them. He’ll probably think all of this was a weird dream he had while he was in a coma, and frankly that might be better for him,” Anders rambled cheerfully. He wasn’t going to be upset. He wasn’t going to be upset- he did something good, something unobjectionable and good and right. He righted a wrong, undid an injustice. He did the right thing!

Doing what was right shouldn’t _hurt_.

“Anders,” Merrill said softly.

“It’s fine. It’s really- I’ll be fine,” Anders insisted. “I should… I’ll just go upstairs and sleep in my own bed.”

“You sure? You can stay for the night, we don’t mind,” Hawke offered, but Anders downed the steaming hot tea and stood up. “I don’t want to leave my cats alone, anyways. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Night, Anders,” Isabela said with a yawn. “If you need anything, I’m just down the hall.”

“And we’re downstairs!” Merrill added quickly. “Good night, Anders. You… you did an amazing job tonight.”

Anders left Hawke and Merrill’s cozy, comfortable apartment and trudged up the stairway to his own domicile. It wasn’t until he wandered into his kitchen and spotted the patch of flour, with Fenris’s last message written in it, did the enormity of what just happened hit him.

Fenris was gone. Fenris was _gone_, and he wasn’t going to come back. Oh, sure, he was alive now, and that was good. Great, even! But when Fenris was a ghost… well, it was different. Special. Fenris was playful, argumentative, _funny_, and he liked being around Anders. Now that he was back in his body, it would be different. He probably wouldn’t even remember his time as a ghost. Most people didn’t remember the time they spent in the Fade. Even Mages had faded memories of the place, so why would Fenris remember?

Andraste’s Tits, Fenris wouldn’t remember their drawn out arguments through flour conversations and knocking. He wouldn’t remember the dinner party at Hawke’s, or the way he and Anders would say good morning, Anders with a sleepy “mornin’, Fenris,” and Fenris with a slow quick quick knocking pattern “Good morn-ing.” Fenris wouldn’t remember any part of his time as a ghost. He wouldn’t remember flirting with Anders, always brushing up against him like a cat in need of attention. He wouldn’t remember finding whatever Anders misplaced and then, out of a sense of mischief, hiding said found object in an even more ridiculous place. Fenris wouldn’t remember playing with Pounce and Justice! He wouldn’t remember any of it, and even if they met in the future the Fenris that Anders knew no longer existed.

It was fine. It was going to be fine, Anders told himself as he stared down at the flour, the words blurring in front of him. He did the right thing, and Fenris would always be Fenris, even if he didn’t remember anything about being a ghost. Fenris would be Fenris, and Fenris would be free, and he didn’t _need_ Anders for anything because he was free, and alive, and just- just not here.

“Oh Maker, I’ve killed him,” Anders whispered, because even if Fenris was now conscious and recovering at St. Justinia’s just down the road, his ghost was never coming back.

And Anders was just going to have to live with that.  
-

Life went on, as it tended to. Anders buried himself in his work at the clinic, and he tried not to pry into whatever Fenris was doing. If Fenris didn’t remember him,he’d just be a stranger barging into his life. If he did remember… well, Anders didn’t want him to come and visit out of a sense of obligation. Fenris had his own life to live, and he didn’t need to spend his time worrying over Anders, or feeling responsible for Anders’s happiness or something.

But Anders could finally admit, at least to himself, that he wasn’t doing as well as he had hoped he would be. They had spent only a short time together, but Anders missed Fenris’s companionship. It was an empty spot in his life and routine, and Anders still found himself about to comment on something he saw or talk about his day only to remember that no, Fenris wasn’t there, and the flour on his counter space was still there with Fenris’s last message written on it in his steady, clear hand.

“I’ll meet you there.”

It was another quiet, lazy afternoon in late autumn. The sun was shining through his windows, the cats were snoozing in their beds, and Anders was sleepily stretched out on his futon as he skimmed through some poetry book that Fenris once recommended- it was good, very lyrical and descriptive, but Anders just couldn’t get through it without thinking of Fenris and missing him fiercely. 

He was just about to doze off when there was a knock at his front door. Anders jolted upright, cursing that little thrill of delight that went up his spine when he heard that sound. Anders stumbled down the hall and swung the door open.

“Look, if you’re trying to sell cookies I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad… time,” Anders’s rambling died away when he realized that there wasn’t a troop of young girls in sharp uniforms, but someone else entirely.

He was elvhen, a little shorter than Anders, broad shouldered and strong. He was also wrapped up in a bright blue wool scarf and a black jacket. But Anders didn’t register the clothing that much, because he was busy staring at the face of the hottest man he may have ever seen. He had dusky, copper skin, sharp cheekbones, strong jawline, and- oh Maker, his eyes! Green gold, large, framed with long, dark lashes, and they were looking at him with a strange sort of softness in them.

Anders gulped. Blinked. Tried to think of something to say. The man’s hair was pale, so pale it looked white, but his eyebrows were dark. Had his hair gone white naturally, or did he dye it? The sleeves of his jacket and undershirt, were pushed up, revealing portion of brightly colored tattoos that swirled up the man’s arms. He was gawking, wasn’t he? Anders blinked again.

“May I… help you?” Anders asked when he finally remembered how words worked. The man smiled, those olive green eyes blazing with an affection so soft and tender it made Anders ache with longing. He raised a hand up to the doorframe, fingers closing over thumb and palm to form a fist, and rested his knuckles against the dark wood.

Two knocks.

“Oh Maker,” Anders breathed out, because he _recognized_ that knock. “Fenris?!”

“In the flesh. May I come in?” Fenris asked, and Anders could scarcely believe how unfair it was that Fenris was not only gorgeous, but that his voice was even more amazing than Anders could have ever imagined.

“Please, do,” Anders replied, and he watched Fenris walk into the apartment. His pale hair, neatly tied up to reveal a tidy undercut, gleamed in the sunlight. Scars ran up his hands and arm in swirling, elegant lines along with the tattoos- oh Maker, it really was Fenris!

“Uh, how are… how are you feeling? I know lyrium can be… painful,” Anders said, and he hoped that the statement hadn’t utterly ruined the moment they were having. It didn’t seem to, as Fenris only shrugged as he peeled his jacket off.

“A little painful, but I’m recovering. I have to re-do the inking on my tattoos, the scars are everywhere,” Fenris replied. Justice and Pounce wound around Fenris’s ankles, meowing piteously as they walked through the hallway towards the kitchen.

“That sucks,” Anders murmured, which felt utterly inadequate, but Anders supposed that Fenris heard what was unsaid.

“Yes,” Fenris said, and he emphasized his statement by knocking on the counter twice. He noticed the flour and smiled before running his finger through the powder.

“I… wanted to thank you. In person,” Fenris said softly, and his _voice_. Oh Maker. He could ask for anything and Anders would give it to him without question. There was a roughness to Fenris’s voice, but also an air of elegance and refinement in every word. There was power in Fenris’s voice, and Anders liked it. He had always wondered what Fenris’s voice was like, but not even in his wildest imaginings did Fenris have a voice like he did.

Reality, in this case, was better than any daydream.

“You pulled me out of the Fade. Saved my life. I’m grateful,” Fenris explained.

“It was the right thing to do,” Anders insisted. This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. He didn’t need Fenris’s gratitude, he would have helped him regardless, he only wanted- wanted…

“Perhaps I should clarify,” Fenris murmured, and he pulled Anders’s hand into his own. He ran his rough, warm fingers across Anders’s palm, entangling their fingers.

“I am grateful, but I did not come here out of gratitude,” Fenris said. “I am here because there is something I wish to do, and I did not have the chance to do so when I was haunting your apartment. And you.” And before Anders could ask what that thing was, Fenris leaned up and pressed his mouth against Anders’s in a soft, but insistent, kiss. When Fenris pulled away, Anders looked down in dazed wonder as Fenris smiled at him with the faintest bit of smugness in his expression.

“Flirt,” Anders said faintly. “But how long…?”

“You wore this shirt when you yelled at me the night you moved in,” Fenris remarked. He lightly traced the outline of the little white cat with one finger, and Anders felt the warmth through the thin cotton, felt the dichotomy of calloused fingertips and soft touch on his skin, and he’d gladly tear his favorite lazy Sunday shirt off his back if it meant that Fenris would keep touching him!

“I thought you were incredible,” Fenris murmured. “No one spoke to me. No one tried- but you did. You shouted at me, treated me like an unreasonable roommate, not a… a spirit. Phantom. It made me feel real. Seen.”

“I’m glad. I thought you were cute the moment you found my stupid colander to apologize for waking me up,” Anders said shakily, and when he laughed Fenris laughed, and then they were kissing again in his kitchen, and Fenris was pushing him up against the counter and flour was flying in the air and it just didn’t matter because Fenris was _here_, and he _remembered_, and everything in this moment was _perfect_.

“May I take you to dinner sometime?” Fenris murmured as he pulled away from Anders, his breath warm against Anders’s face. “Isabela is letting me stay at her place until I settle into Kirkwall properly. We’re neighbors now.”

“Weren’t we always?” Anders said with a laugh, and he was only silenced when Fenris kissed him again.

**Author's Note:**

> The entire time I wrote this I just imagined Fenris seeing Anders storm out of his apartment in cat pajamas to shout at him and thinking “Oh.” -romantic music swells-


End file.
